


Stiles and Scott's Excellent Adventure

by coramalias



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure - Freeform, Multi, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coramalias/pseuds/coramalias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles?”</p><p>“Yeah, Scott?”</p><p>“Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.”</p><p>[WIP that will probably never be finished, so I'm publishing it now]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Maintaining a good GPA had never come easy to Scott McCall. Between the commute back and forth from his mom’s house to his dad’s in the early days, Scott always seemed to lose his worksheets and badly scribbled notes somewhere under the backseat of his dad’s car. Stiles didn’t help much either. Although he was Scott’s Best Friend (capital letters essential), even Stiles himself had admitted that always dragging Scott into his latest adventures no matter the time ( _“3 in the morning, Stiles? Really?” “The fate of the world is at stake, Scott! A real live bank robber, here in Beacon Hills!” “We have a history test tomorrow! You can interrogate him later.”_ ) was counterproductive to the main goal of keeping Scott’s grades high enough so he could graduate on time alongside Stiles.

They had big plans for their last days at Beacon Hills High. It was going to be _life changing_.

They had started planning in middle school. The rough draft was kind of vague, and almost illegible between the Stiles’ microscopic scrawl and the smudged eraser marks where Scott employed his veto power over Stiles’ ideas, but the main points were clear. It mainly involved lots of silly string, a massive supply of balloons, and somehow working in a live performance of their fledgling two man garage band.

Which was a perfect plan, until Scott was bitten by a werewolf and their lives spiraled downhill alarmingly quickly.

Scott tried his best to stay afloat, he really did, but the world kept kicking him down again. The first few months were the hardest. He struggled to find control, for something to latch onto when he felt his anger giving way to the shift. Stiles ended up being his only support system. Regardless, Scott nearly killed him dozens of times. Amazingly enough, instead of destroying what they had, it brought them even closer together than they were before (which, knowing Scott and Stiles, is really saying something). They weren’t just Best Friends anymore. They were brothers, they were each other’s family. They were _pack_.

But Scott wasn’t the only one bitten by this particular werewolf roaming around Beacon Hills’ top twenty most sketchy places. Two months after Scott was bitten, Isaac Lahey showed up at school with newfound lacrosse skills and a pep in his step. After Isaac came Erica. And after Erica came Boyd. The three gravitated toward each other, forming a small support system which they easily welcomed Scott and Stiles into. With their combined knowledge they were able to piece together the information they were most definitely not getting from their resident rabid werewolf. And with four werewolves and their individual testimonials at his disposal, Stiles was able to put his research skills to good use and create a Werewolf 101 pamphlet for his new friends. He even laminated it.

They never learned the name of the alpha who bit Scott. It never truly mattered, anyway. What mattered was that they had survived. Stiles was only slightly concerned about how little the image of an alpha werewolf set alight with a Molotov cocktail bothered him.

The following months only made Scott’s continuing struggles with his GPA even worse. With the end of summer came an entire fucking _pack_ of alphas, a darach, a werecoyote Scott never truly stopped feeling responsible for even as a human, and a nogitsune.

Up until the nogitsune incident, Stiles had been coping fairly well. His grades had wavered slightly but not too dramatically. Although, trying to keep up with your AP Biology class while also trying to resist the Japanese demon in your subconscious telling you to violently murder everyone in the town is a little more than Stiles could handle.

Which is why both Scott and Stiles are sitting outside the friendly neighborhood Circle K with books scattered around their laps and a half eaten bag of twizzlers between them.

“Dude, who the fuck gives a history test over a range of several thousand years? That’s just cruel. How are we even supposed to study for something like that?” Stiles viciously rips off a chunk of a twizzler stick just to emphasize his point.

Scott shrugs. “This is the same man who married a 900 year old fox spirit. His sense of time is severely warped at this point.”

Stiles huffs, yet apparently considers that an adequate excuse for this monstrosity if a history test. Which isn’t only a test, but also has the added benefit of requiring a presentation to be performed in front of the entire school. Tomorrow. Fuck.

Scott groans, letting his head fall forward into the open text book on his lap. “Do you think osmosis works?”

Stiles laughs lightly and pats Scott’s shoulder. Scott peaks up to look at him and finds him wiggling his eyebrows in a way that can never bode well for anyone involved in whatever plan Stiles just came up with.

“Well,” Stiles started slowly, thoughtfully chewing the rest of his twizzler, “we could always ask people the questions we can’t find the answers to. I’m sure the shoppers at Circle K at midnight are an intellectual bunch.”

Scott grins despite himself and lifts his head back up to scan the parking lot. He finds a middle aged woman just slamming the door of her car shut. He nudges Stiles’ shoulder with his own, and Stiles stands as the woman approaches.

“Excuse me,” he clears his throat pointedly, waiting until he has her full attention, “do you know when the Mongols ruled China?”

The woman just eyes him suspiciously. “No. I just work here.”

As the woman continues into the store, Stiles turns back to Scott and throws his arms up in a hopeless gesture.

“Wanna try the Thrifty Mart?” Scott suggests, gathering his notes and shoving them hazardously back into his backpack. Maybe the cashier at Thrifty Mart will be more helpful. They start to leave, but barely make it off the curb before a brilliant white light envelops the parking lot. A fantastic _BANG!_ echoes around them and the light slowly dims. Scott blinks rapidly, his vision returning but not quite believing what he sees in front of him. Stiles seems to be thinking much the same if the murmured “what the fuck” is anything to go by.

In front of them stands an old style phone booth that was most certainly not there 5 minutes ago. Little blue sparks of electricity shoot off of it from every angle. If that wasn’t strange enough, a man steps out. He can’t be more than early to mid 20s, with dark hair and a supremely suspicious looking leather jacket. The dark sunglasses don’t help the look much either. Combined with the stubble he’s rocking and the homocidal resting expression, he kind of looks like a futuristic dork.

“…..Greetings, my excellent friends.” He enclines his head, although looks as if the words bring him immense pain. Scott doesn’t blame him. That sentence is simply tragic.

“Hey,” Stiles says, and oh no Scott recognizes that tone.

“Do you know when the Mongols ruled China?”

Scott briefly thinks he’s going to have to shield Stiles from this guy’s wrath. Scott isn’t all that great at reading people but he’s very familiar with that look that means murder is in the near future. But as quickly as the annoyance came, it leaves. His expression clears and he almost seems to smile.

“Well, perhaps we could ask them.”

“What.” Stiles deadpans.

“Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, I’m here to help you pass your history test.”

“ _Literally what_.”

Another beam of light flashed from the sky, and a second magical phone booth joined the first. From this one emerged….

Well. Scott and Stiles.

Scott wholeheartedly agreed with Stiles’ earlier comment: what the literal fuck.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, Scott?”

“Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.”

“Dude!” Stiles’ double shouts, both he and Scott’s double grinning like lunatics as they approach their drastically more subdued and confused clones.

“You guys are gonna go back in time!” Stiles 2 exclaims, flailing his arm for added effect.

“You are going to have a _most excellent_ adventure through history!”

"Who are you even?” Stiles questions incredulously.

“We’re you!”

Stiles shakes his head. “No.”

“Yes!”

“No,” Stiles repeats forcefully, “I’ve seen some shit over the past two years, but time travel is one step too far.”

Scott 2 lifts his hands in surrender. “Look, we know how you feel. We didn’t believe it either when we were you and we us said what we us are saying right now. ”

In his peripheral vision Scott saw Supposed Time Traveler Number One shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Scott returned his attention to an argument brewing with an increasingly angry Stiles. “Okay wait, if you guys are really us, what number are we thinking of?”

Stiles 2 and Scott 2 grinned at each other before saying in unison, “69, dudes!”

A muffled “oh my god” drifted accords the parking lot before Scott 2 and Stiles 2 were yanked backward by Mr. Lame Sunglasses. Stiles 2 stumbled and seemed to notice him for the first time.

“Derek! Hey, man!” He wiggles his eyebrows, patting the guy, apparently Derek, on the shoulder and dislodging his grip. His grin widens at Derek’s confused look, then turns back to Scott and Stiles.

“Listen to this dude, Derek. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Scott doesn’t think he really seems like all that helpful of a guy, but Derek seems placated enough as he not so gently pushes Stiles 2 and Scott 2 back toward the phone booth. “Shouldn’t you two get going?”

“Right!” Scott 2 agrees, opening the booth door before he pauses and turns back to his past self.

“And Scott, give my love to the princesses.”

“That was vague as fuck, dude.” Scott replies because honestly, future him is a dick.

“Yeah.” Scott 2 agrees easily before both he and Stiles 2 squeeze into the booth.

“See you later!” Stiles yells through the glass door before another blinding light sends the phone booth away again.

“So,” Stiles says into the ensuing silence, “How do you plan to help us?”

Derek kicks open the phone booth door and waves his arm in what was probably supposed to be a welcoming gesture. “I’m going to be your guide through history, to make sure you two don’t fuck up too badly. So if you’ll kindly get in the phone booth we can get to more important places, like Austria in 1805.”

A slow grin spread across Stiles’ lips and Scott hadn’t had enough experience with that expression to know exactly what they were in for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is some Doctor Who bullshit."

"This is some Doctor Who bullshit." 

“Yeah, but this phone booth is red.” Scott points out. Stiles shoots him his best unamused glare, but Scott doesn’t seem impressed.

”Even the graphics are terrible! I can honestly say I’ve seen better CGI interpretation of time travel in 80s movies. Back to the Future was more realistic than this!”

“This is real, dumbass.” Derek says, punching the number keys of the phone. Come _on_ , the phone was probably the dumbest thing about this mystical time traveling phone box. Can’t the engineers in the future invest in some more sophisticated equipment? Maybe a touchscreen? 

“At least it isn’t a rotary dial.” Derek mutters, and oh Stiles didn’t realize he was actually saying that aloud. Wait -

“Someone actually made one of these with a rotary dial?”

“Yes.” Its kind of impressive how much inflection he can put onto that word, as if that one syllable is frustrating him immensely. 

Stiles whistled. “Wow. What an asshole.”

Derek scoffs, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “You’re mainly insulting yourself. You’re the one who invented them.”

“Wait, what? I’m the one who created this disgrace?!” Stiles’ voice shoots up an octave toward the end, gesturing wildly to the atmosphere outside the phone booth. Long, writhing grey tubing runs as far as the eye can see. It’s surrounded by flickering electrical sparks in a variety of colors.

Scott laughs. “I’m your best friend and I’m confident in your abilities, but even I don’t think you created the _fabric of time_ , Stiles.”

“Circuts of History,” Derek corrects mildly. 

“ _Circuts of History_ , whatever.”

“Wait,” Stiles pauses, the enormity of Derek’s comment catching up with him, “is that why you came back to help us? We’re important in the future?”

“Yes. You basically founded society as we…. as I know it.” 

“Wait, you mean we -” Before Scott can finish his thought, the machine suddenly jerks and stutters to a halt in its flight. Derek reaches around Scott to prop open the door. He pushes both Scott and Stiles out before climbing from the booth himself. 

“Gentlemen,” he drawls, sarcasm dripping from the word. Both boys pause their starry-eyed sweep of their new surroundings to focus on Derek. “Welcome to Austria, 1805. The French have just invaded.” 

“Dude!” Scott exclaims, punching Stiles’ arm enthusiastically, “We’re in a war zone over 200 years ago!” 

“Definitely the strangest thing to happen to me this week.” Stiles agrees. 

Derek points to a hill to the left of their little time traveling brigade. Perched atop it is a group of white tents arranged in a cluster. “That would be Napoleon’s center of command.” 

“Oh my God, Napoleon,” Stiles breathes, “We actually just traveled back in time to see _Napoleon_.” 

"Actually,” Derek says, concern beginning to lace his voice, “we might want to be leaving now. I don’t exactly like the direction those canons are pointing.” 

He promptly manhandles Stiles and Scott back into the booth and quickly punches more of the number keys. Stiles really hopes that being literally dragged around through history by Derek isn’t going to become a thing. Unfortunately, by the way things are going so far, he has to admit this will probably be happening a lot more before their little adventure is over. Maybe he can invest in a shield if they visit the Middle Ages. 

“What was the point of coming here if we couldn’t explore a little?” Stiles complains as the phone booth rumbles back to life. 

“There are two goals: one, make sure you two pass your history final, and two, keep you alive long enough to accomplish goal one. We’ll go to a less violent point in history.” 

The time machine takes off with a loud thud, and Stiles finds himself hurling through time once more. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the sensation. Maybe the “Circuts of History” will look less utterly idiotic the more often Stiles travels through them. Although he supposes he’ll have plenty of time to figure it out when he _invents time travel_ , God. 

“Where are we going now? Since war and violence is out, that doesn’t leave quite a lot of options.” Scott says, tapping the glass of the booth whenever he spots a particularly close electrical spark. 

“To your house.” Derek replies, hanging the phone back on its hook. “Your dad is going to want to speak with you before he leaves for work.” 

“Why? I don’t think we exactly have the time for a father-son bonding experience right now….” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Not exactly, no. He’s going to lecture you about your grades. Then he’s going to threaten you with military boarding school. In Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Scott echoes.

“Alaska.” Derek confirms solemnly.

“But he _can’t_ leave.” Stiles reasons, raking his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture he’d picked up ever since he grew out the buzz cut. “That’s the whole point. Somehow, Scott and I change the world together. So he has to stay in Beacon Hills with me, right?” 

Derek nods. “Which is why I’m here. If Scott passes this history test, he passes the class, he graduates on schedule, and he can convince his dad to let him stay in California. It won’t be easy, but this is the turning point in his timeline.” 

A tremor runs through the phone booth, and it stutters thrice before falling silent once more. Stiles recognizes his surroundings this time. They’ve landed in Scott’s front lawn. 

“Could you at least _try_ to be a little more subtle?” Stiles hisses as he is once again shoved out though the sliding glass door. 

"He probably won’t even notice, don’t worry about it.” Derek’s voice drifts from behind him as the man carefully steps out of the box. He did have a point. Scott’s dad had seen his share of Japanese demons and various other supernatural shenanigans. A out of place phone box would most likely be low on his radar. 

“I don’t care if Scott’s dad won’t notice the phone booth, he’ll most definitely notice the suspicious man lurking on his front lawn. Seriously, what’s up with the leather? And the sunglasses? Really not working for you, man.” Stiles tilts his head thoughtfully, then reaches up to Derek and confiscates his glasses. Derek doesn’t even protest. He just raises an eyebrow and lets Stiles hook them on the collar of his own t-shirt. 

Stiles grins. “Much better. You almost look like you belong in the decade. Now, you’re coming with me and we are going to…” Stiles trails off, a stout shadow to the side of the phone booth catching his attention. “Ah fuck, we kidnapped Napoleon.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“How does that even happen, how does one accidentally kidnap Napoleon?” Scott questioned thoughtfully. Before Stiles can give that comment an adequate response, a voice calls out from the front porch. 

“Scott? Is that you out there? I need to talk to you.” 

“Stiles, you take Derek and Napoleon and hide them somewhere close by. Maybe sneak in Isaac’s room, he’s probably not asleep yet. Go. I’ll come find you when he’s done.” 

Stiles vows to seriously begin reevaluating his life choices after this whole fiasco is over. For now, he turns to Napoleon with a long suffering sigh. 

“Hey, little guy,” he whispers in what he hopes is a soothing tone as he approaches, “you don’t happen to speak modern English, do you?” 

Judging by the rapid flowing French rushing from his mouth, he apparently does not. 

Fortunately, Derek takes initiative. With one swift hit to the back of the head Napoleon is out like a light. Unfortunately, that also means they now have to drag him to Isaac’s bedroom window. Which is on the second floor. Fuck. 

“Dude, how are we going to get him up there now?!” Stiles whispers as Derek eyes Napoleon thoughtfully. 

“I can carry him.” Derek decides. 

Stiles huffs in disbelief. “No, no way. Unless there are actual superheroes in the future too, there is no way you can carry him _and_ scale the side of Scott’s house.” 

“You don’t think so?” 

“I know for certain, unless maybe you were….” Stiles stops at Derek’s triumphant look. He flashes his eyes at Stiles, a brilliant neon blue shining through the darkness. 

Stiles groans. “I shouldn’t even be surprised at this point.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac hums thoughtfully and leans over the foot of his bed to prop his chin on her shoulder. “I’m trying to help. It’s not my fault this text is impossible to pass, let alone study for.” 
> 
> “Then why are they making me take it?” 
> 
> Isaac gently pries the highlighters out from between her teeth before she bites them in half. “Because the public education system in America is deeply flawed.”

Isaac was never really one for overachievement. When his parents were still alive, he only made sure he completed the bare minimum in order to maintain a steady A-/B+ in each of his classes. His slight ambition died along with them. Now the constant, neurotic struggle with GPA that most every student suffered from only reminds Isaac of his father’s obsession with it during the last few years of his life. Those memories aren’t exactly that which Isaac enjoys reliving. As it is, Isaac doesn’t worry too much about the impossible history test he has to take by the end of the week, or the presentation tomorrow afternoon. 

Malia, however, is an entirely different story. She sits cross-legged on the floor at the foot of Isaac’s bed with her history book propped on her knee and two highlighters between her teeth. He doesn’t think she’s supposed to be actually highlighting the pages of the book, school property and all that, but knowing Malia she probably couldn’t care less. Her hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun with a pencil stabbed mercilessly through the middle. She has three piles of notebook paper in a circle around her: Kira’s, Erica’s, and Danny’s notes, respectively. Kira and Erica had been determined to help Malia successfully pass her junior year of high school after her eight years as a vagabond coyote. They had Stiles drag Danny into the plot as well, claiming that out of all of them it was Danny who had the most consistent set of notes and knowledge, considering he had strategically placed himself out of the supernatural events over the past year. Malia still claimed Kira’s notes were the best. She was convinced that Kira had inherited her dad’s sense of intuition, and swore that the points Kira emphasized were always the ones used on the test. 

Unfortunately for Malia, there was nothing to overemphasize when the test was spanning several thousand years. 

“Are you going to help me like you promised, or are you just going to sit there and watch me fail?” Malia growls around the highlighters, tapping her fingernails, which are beginning to look more like claws, against the cover of her textbook. 

Isaac hums thoughtfully and leans over the foot of his bed to prop his chin on her shoulder. “I’m trying to help. It’s not my fault this text is impossible to pass, let alone study for.” 

“Then why are they making me take it?” 

Isaac gently pries the highlighters out from between her teeth before she bites them in half. “Because the public education system in America is deeply flawed.” 

Malia slumps. Isaac pats her arm soothingly. 

“If you haven’t noticed yet, Stiles is trying to break in through the window.” Malia informs him. Before Isaac can respond, his phone trills to signal an incoming text message. Across the screen flashes “Stiles”. 

_scott’s tlking w/ dad let us in wndow dnt freak out_

Isaac rolls out of bed, across the room, and to the window where Stiles is supposedly waiting. He slides the glass pane upward as quietly as possible. He peaks his head out, but isn’t able to see more than two vague blobs in the darkness. 

“Doesn’t your phone have autocorrect?” 

“Shut up, we’re trying to be secretive.” Stiles whispers forcefully. “Help those two inside, I’ll be up right after.” 

Isaac leans further out of the window. His arm brushes across another body and he latches into it. After receiving what he assumes is a grunt of approval, he tugs the person into the room. 

Or rather, two people with one carrying the other. They both tumble across the floor and scatter Malia’s strategically placed notes. Malia looks up at Isaac with a glare. He shrugs. 

“I underestimated my own strength.” 

Stiles shimmies through the window a moment later and nearly knocks himself unconscious when his head hits the floor. 

“Who are they?” Malia asks critically. The taller man stands up from where he had fallen on the floor, but the shorter one remains limp. Shit, is he unconscious? 

“Derek, this is Isaac and Malia. Guys, that,” Stiles flourishes a Vana White gesture in the conscious man’s direction, “is Derek, our guide through time traveling.” 

_Seriously?_

Unlike Isaac, Malia doesn’t seem phased. “Who’s the little guy? Is he dead?” 

Stiles’ eyes go wide. “No, he’s not dead! At least I hope he’s not dead. You’re the ones who can hear heartbeats, is he dead? Derek, did you kill Napoleon?!”

“ _I didn’t kill Napoleon._ ”

“That’s _Napoleon_?!” 

Malia hums thoughtfully. “I may be a little behind on the times, but I’m pretty sure he died a while ago.” 

“He did,” Isaac assures her, “a couple hundred years ago. Stiles, _what the fuck_.” 

Derek interrupts Stiles’ probable indignant response with a wave of his hand. He pauses, then says, “Scott is almost done. We should leave soon.” 

"What? What are we supposed to do with Napoleon?” 

Derek shrugs. “Leave him with these two. They seem responsible enough.” 

“Uh, excuse me,” Isaac interrupts. Both Stiles and Derek turn to him. “I am not going to babysit Napoleon Bonaparte for you. Not tonight, not ever, no, that is not happening.” 

“I’ll give you ten dollars for it.” 

Malia snaps to attention, leveling her gaze with Stiles and holding her hand out expectantly. “I’ll take that action.” 


End file.
